Like Father Like Son
by Rabblocked
Summary: "But do you know what they got up to in Islamabad, because I do. There was no beating, it was all very loving" -Benedict Cumberbatch. After a night of torrid lovemaking, Sherlock and Irene parted ways, unsure whether they would meet again. However, Sherlock left Irene with a parting gift that night and after 18 months, she has to give it back. What's the gift? Will they meet again?
1. Forgive me

Sherlock twiddled with the stress ball in his pocket that he had kept since he leapt off St. Bart's. He watched the security footage of 221b Baker Street from an app on his smartphone that he had had an underground friend write. He swallowed, nothing, per usual. It had been two months since his death and he had been watching John everyday, making sure he was safe and out of self-harm's way. Twice he had had to sneak in and remove the bullets from his gun. John, was managing, however. As best as could be expected.

He glanced around him and pulled his collar up to cover his face, though the shadows of the alleyway surely provided enough closure.

He had been living underground for the time being, but it was getting more than stressful and his funds were running low. He only had one option, one person he could potentially turn to. Her. The Woman. The Woman. And God help him, his woman.

His mind raced back to their last encounter, a brief one at that. He smiled sadly as he recalled the famous 1950s film, by the same name. Their night had been loving and sweet. They had consummated months of frustration and, yes, love that night. However, his fairytale ending, was not to be. He frowned as he recalled Jim's ugly words about every story needing a good, old fashioned villain. Well, Sherlock had definitely had his. His damsel, his princess, his love, however, he had had to let go. He closed his eyes, remembering her last words, "I'll always love you, Mr Sherlock Holmes. And I'll always be with you. Just close your eyes and think of me. And I'll be there." She had winked, though a tear had fallen. He swallowed again, looking up so as to avoid getting...emotional. Too late.

He bit his lip, exiting the security camera app and scrolling through his contacts to her name: 'The Woman.' He began to type a text, pausing before deleting it. She had made it clear that night, that they could never be. Their twisted love/hate relationship was not meant for a world as tender as theirs. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Fuck it." He thought, suddenly.

"I need help. SH" He hit send, swallowing as the bar loaded before telling him, 'delivered.' He waited five minutes, nothing.

He checked back to his flat, hoping John might do something funny that he could distract his mind with.

He frowned as he watched the video. A woman carrying what seemed to be a baby basket was leering outside his front door. He squinted his eyes, making sure he was seeing the image clearly. He nearly dropped the phone as he saw her jawline glance around before sighing heavily to herself, or so it seemed, knocking on the door and departing as quickly as she had come.

It had been 18 months since Irene had last seen Sherlock and all that she had been left with was a head full of memories and a tiny bundle of nine-month old 'joy'. She swallowed as she looked down at her baby. She couldn't do it. Not anymore. She had tried so very hard. As soon as she had found out she was pregnant she had sworn to have an abortion, but when she saw him on that monitor, something melted inside of her and she had to try. For him. For Sherlock. She spent the next nine months in eager trepidation and when her baby had finally arrived, she was happy. At least, for the moment. It had been a beautiful baby boy and Irene had recalled a memory spent in 221b Baker Street with a wry smile. Hamish. She called him Hamish. Deep down, she had always known that motherhood was not for her, even after having had her child, she was still not maternal. However, she had persevered as she always did. It was too much.

She couldn't do it anymore, it wasn't fair on either herself or her baby. He deserved better than her half-hearted attempts at false motherhood. That was how she had found herself that average March evening outside 221b Baker Street. She set the basket down and leaned down to press a kiss to her son's head, tears rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry. One day you'll understand." She whispered softly. "But you'll have your Daddy, and I know that despite everything, he'll be better for you than I ever could be." She said softly before forcing herself to stand up. She set down two envelopes into the basket, one addressed to Sherlock and one to Hamish before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door. She then gave one last glance to her baby before hurriedly retreating into the shadows.

John made his way down the stairs and opened the door with a frown. He looked down and upon seeing the infant immediately started. He stepped out of the doorway and looked around. He frowned before reaching down to pick up the baby carrier. He noticed two notes and read the names. He closed his eyes and sighed, knowing exactly who must have left her child at their-his flat.

Sherlock's eyes widened as he realised just what was going on. His mind raced back to their night in Karachi. The one, single night of love they had shared. Sweat married with passion and tangled limbs and sheets, and moans...oh, how the moans haunted him. He swallowed at the memories, his eyes glistening.

Without thinking, he jumped up and raced down the street the where John was confusedly standing. He caught his eye and shouted, "Look after it!" Before racing past him and down the alleyway he had seen her enter. He slammed against the wall at the end, the only way he was able to stop himself after having sprinted so fast. He glanced around him and above him, looking for how she could have escaped. "Irene! IRENE!" He yelled, his voice desperate and shaking. He spun around, like a madman, his heart racing as he caught his breath. "IRENE ADLER!" He shouted again, he could feel the sobs begin to bubble. "Miss Adler..." He tried, slowly overcome with defeat. He banged his fists against the brick wall before sliding down it slouching his back against the cool clay. He dropped his head into his hands and cried, before letting out a guttural yell of outrage, sorrow, and loss.

Irene was perched on the roof. She closed her eyes as she heard his yells, his screams, and his sobs. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she held a hand to her mouth to hold back a sob. She couldn't stay a moment longer and so stood up quickly and walked away from the two most important people in her life.

Sherlock took a moment before slowly collecting himself and picking himself up off the ground. He wiped his eyes and walked slowly back to the main street. He made his way down baker street keeping his gaze downwards. He looked up at at a haunted John Watson, "Well, what on earth are we supposed to do now?" He asked quietly.


	2. A World of Pure Imagination

John looked to the man in front of him with wide eyed shock. "Y-you're supposed to be dead." He said, his mouth agape. He was clutching the basket with the small child in, almost as if it was the only thing grounding him in that singular moment.

"Boo." Sherlock said with a guilty, sad smile. He glanced around and pulled up his collar before returning back to John and saying, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Come. Let's go inside and talk."

"He's called Hamish." John said in reply, not wanting to face the intense emotions wracking through his brain, not yet anyway. Not sure if he could do it without breaking down into a mess of emotion. He stiffly turned to walk in, still holding the basket with the baby in it.

Sherlock's jaw tensed at the name and he swallowed down the knot of heartbreak that had jumped up to his throat. He remained silent, following John up the familiar stairs of their 221b flat. He ran his finger along the wall, a thousand memories flooding his his brain. He closed his eyes in momentary euphoria of happier times. He opened his eyes, rejoining reality once more and continued up the creaky, wooden stairs.

John walked up the stairs, the psychosomatic limp that he had redeveloped seemingly forgotten in the presence of his lost best friend. He walked into the living room and set the baby down, it was remarkable that he was still asleep. He took the envelopes out of the basket and passed them to Sherlock.

The taller man furrowed his brows as he was handed the envelopes, turning them around in his hand, before holding them up to the light, his logical, scientific brain trying to hijack the emotional side of him that seemed to have taken over. "I'll...read these later...does he need anything before we begin?" He asked John, glancing at the baby in the basket before returning to look awkwardly and shamefully at John.

John would have rolled his eyes at him but found himself unable to do so in that moment. He took a minute to check the baby. "He looks like you." He murmured, mostly to himself before shaking his head. "He's fine. He's asleep."

Sherlock glanced at the slumbering child, silently agreeing as he scanned his features and raven curls. "Where should we start?" He asked, turning back to John and taking off his coat and scarf. He sat down on the couch slowly as he laid them next to him before steepling his hands to his mouth and fixing on the man in front of him blankly.

John had set Hamish down in his own chair so he walked to sit in Sherlock's. He sat down with a weary exhale, moving his forgotten cane out of the way. "You're alive." He said simply, trying to take a leaf out of Sherlock's book and be logical, not letting the emotions overwhelm him.

He nodded slowly, "So it seems."

"Don't. Don't do that." John said, his face hard, the only reason he was not raising his voice was because of the sleeping baby in their flat. "Explain. You explain to me _right now._" His eyes pleaded with Sherlock silently for some remnant of sanity.

Sherlock sighed, "Well, ask me specific questions and I will. It's all very long and complicated. It will help me help you if we break it down."

John took a deep breath. "Why did you...fake your suicide?" He asked, the words surprisingly hard to get out.

"Moriarty gave me an ultimatum. I had no choice." Sherlock replied simply.

John frowned. "What ultimatum?"

"He threatened the lives of those I loved. It was my life or yours, Mrs Hudson's, Lestrade, etc." He answered, glancing down. "I'm...I'm sorry. I truly am. But you had to be kept in the dark. For a time anyways. It was too unsafe...for us all." He added.

John let out a breath. "You did it...for us?" He asked, everything becoming clear in his head.

Sherlock glanced up, "Of course." He answered quickly, almost offended.

"Oh... I see." John said simply, looking at his best friend with almost wonder. He smiled weakly. "It's good to have you back."

He gave John a warm and much appreciated grin, "And it's good to be back."

John's smile grew warmer slightly before he heard a small sniffle. He looked over at Hamish, the small boy yawned before settling back to sleep. "You might want to explain this one next." He said, looking at Sherlock again.

Sherlock bit his lip and leaned back on the sofa further, "Right...where to begin. I'm sort of in the dark as well to be honest. This is the first I've found out about...Hamish. Irene and I..." He paused, wondering how to continue, and glancing at John for help.

"I thought Irene was dead?" John interjected, furrowing his brow.

A sly grin spread across Sherlock's face. "That was the intended plan for you and Mycroft-thinking she was dead, I mean.." He replied vaguely.

"I thought she was beheaded...in Karachi, was it?" John asked before comprehension dawned on his face. "You saved her, didn't you?" You didn't need the mind of Sherlock Holmes to be able to fill in the gaps.

Sherlock brought his hand to cup his jaw and chin, in his characteristic T shape, his index finger stroking his lower lip as he nodded smugly. "Yes, yes I did."

John nodded. "And then I'm guessing she was very..._grateful_." John said, trying to be as delicate as possible.

Sherlock frowned then, again, the memory of their time in the hotel room too painful to recall. "...Something like that." He swallowed, blinking back a tear.

John nodded. "And now... you're a father. Congratulations." John smiled slightly. "Must admit, I didn't see this one coming."

He raised his brows, "Nor did I, to be quite frank."

"Well... what do we do now?" John asked, once again looking over at the baby. "He'll wake up soon."

Sherlock shrugged, "How should I know? Children aren't exactly my area of expertise. How old is he, do you think? Surely she wouldn't leave him if he still needed breast feeding..." Sherlock mused nervously.

"I'd say about 9-10 months. And she left a bag with some supplies." John told him, pointing to it.

He nodded, "I see..." He paused a moment before continuing, "How-how could she do this...?" He wondered aloud, closing his eyes, pained.

"She doesn't exactly seem like the maternal type." John sighed. "Some women just can't cope. I think we should just be thankful that she didn't have an abortion. Or give him up for adoption."

Sherlock glanced at the baby and then at John, "Yes, I suppose that's true." He replied, sighing softly. "It's hard to believe _we_ made that." He continued leaning down to inspect the baby. He slowly reached out his index finger and nudged his tiny hand with it gently.

Hamish frowned in his sleep and tossed a little, his tiny hand grasping Sherlock's long finger in his sleep.  
"Someone likes you." John said softly, with a fond smile.

He glanced up at John, frowning slightly, "How do you know?"

John gestured down to Sherlock's finger in the babies grasp.

Sherlock glanced back at the baby, not having realised the baby had gripped his finger, he smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling. "Hello Hamish." He said gently.

John blinked away inexplicable moisture in his eyes at the sight. "I am really not emotionally prepared for any of this." He sighed, however, a small smile was still in place.

Sherlock laughed for the first time in months, "And I am?" He winked.

John chuckled, relief washing over him as everything was turning out better than he could have hoped. "Still can't believe you're a dad. Before me as well." He sighed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Still, at least you aren't in love with a woman who refuses to listen to her heart and be with you." He muttered bitterly.

John's face fell slightly. "What happened?" He asked quietly. "What did she say in Karachi?"

Sherlock closed his eyes as he leaned back from little Hamish, "_Please_...it's too painful..." He said bringing his hand to his eyes.

"Right, yeah. Sorry." John said softly, reaching out a hand to pat Sherlock's shoulder.

He sighed deciding to relent a bit and give him the bare details, "She basically left me, saying that she loved me but couldn't do the whole 'traditional relationship' thing." He finally explained.

John nodded. "That sounds like Irene Adler." He sighed, "Idiotic as always."

Sherlock's face flashed in momentary anger, "Don't call her that." He spit.

John glanced up at him and held up his hands appeasingly. "Right. Right. Sorry. I just mean...She fails to see the obvious sometimes. Don't worry, you often do too."

Sherlock smirked his anger diminishing, "I know, why do you think I love her?"

John smiled softly. It was good to hear Sherlock admit it. "Right well, I think we should figure out what we're going to do with this one." He said, motioning to Hamish.

"Yes, yes we should. Any ideas?" Sherlock questioned.

"I assume you want to keep him?" John asked.

Sherlock frowned at him in confusion, as if he could not see any other possible option. "Obviously. What else would I do?"

"I don't know, put him up for adoption?" John said but shook his head slightly, he didn't like that idea.

Sherlock's jaw tensed in a rush of pain and irritation, "_Never_, John, _never_."

John nodded. "Good. I mean, he's your child so obviously the choice is yours but I'd love for you to keep him." John looked over at the sleeping child and smiled.

"Me too, me too. I just..." He took a deep breath, "I just...wish _she _was here...I _miss_ her so..." He felt tears begin to well and put his head in his hands.

John sighed. "I know, Sherlock." He murmured.

Just then, Hamish's eyes opened and he yawned, his tiny hands stretching up.

Sherlock looked over at the baby and then at John, "Should I...? Should I...pick him up?" He asked hesitantly.

John looked over at Hamish, he was very awake, wide blue eyes staring back at him. Very familiar eyes. "Yes, you should. Get him used to you. He'll only know his mother and he will probably cry for her soon. You need to get him used to you and the sound of your heartbeat."

He furrowed his brow slightly, "My, my heartbeat? What? Why? And how do I...hold him?" He asked the doctor.

"It's why you hold a baby to your chest. The heartbeat calms them. It's how they recognise their mother at first." He explained. He got out of his chair and walked over, picking Hamish up. "Hello." He said with a smile before walking over to Sherlock. "Hold out your arms."

Sherlock sighed and did as he was told, "Now what?" He asked impatiently.

John carefully placed Hamish into Sherlock's arms. "Support his head like this." He said, positioning Hamish.

He moved his arms stiffly trying to follow John's instructions, "Like this?" He asked awkwardly.

John nodded and stepped away. "Like that." He smiled. "Try talking to him, get him used to your voice."

Sherlock stared at Hamish as he held him in his arms, a wide grin taking over his face. He did his best to make sure his head was properly held. "He looks like her..." He observed, slightly pained.

Hamish stared up at the man holding him, his eyes alarmingly intelligent as he gazed up at him, reaching one little chubby hand up.  
John smiled a little sadly. "Yeah, he does. He'll be a looker when he's older." He smiled.

"With _her _for a mother, yes." Sherlock replied, adjusting Hamish in his arms.

Hamish had a small frustrated look on his face as he reached further up, grasping Sherlock's chin in his hand.

John nodded. "And for you as a father. He has your eyes. And hair."

Sherlock swallowed, taking the observation in stride, "Yes, yes he does. He's...well, he's precious, isn't he?"

John nodded fondly. "Yes. He is."

Hamish looked around, a slight frown on his face. He knew there was someone missing. He looked up at Sherlock as if to ask, _Where is she?_

Sherlock frowned slightly, "Something's wrong. Why is his face like that?" He questioned John.

Hamish continued to look around before his chin started to wobble slightly and he began to cry.

John frowned as Hamish began to cry. "I think he misses her."

"Ah, yes, of course...Um, what do we do?" Sherlock asked his friend, utterly clueless.

Hamish began to cry harder, his tiny hands turning into fists, looking around frantically.

"Well, he's a baby. Just...you know...comfort him." John suggested.

Sherlock frowned, "Uh, right." He rocked the baby gently, glancing at John tentatively. "He's not stopping. Why?"

"He misses his mum I think. You're just going to have to keep comforting him. He'll forget about her soon enough." John told him.

Sherlock sighed, looking down at the child, "There, there." He murmured, lifting him up to kiss his forehead lightly.

Hamish's tiny face screwed up in frustration and he continued to bawl, his shouts getting louder and louder.

The taller man continued to rock the baby, shushing him softly, "Hamish, settle, settle." he whispered, glancing at at John desperately.

Hamish didn't stop crying and his tiny fists began to beat against Sherlock.

"Sing to him?" John suggested, smirking a little at the idea.

Sherlock stared at him bewildered, "S-sing? I don't sing though." He stammered, horrified at the thought.

"It'll soothe him and get him used to your voice." John pointed out, raising his voice over Hamish's wails.

The detective sighed and thought a moment, rocking the child against his chest and bringing him closer to half sing/half whisper in his ear, "Hold your breath/Make a wish/Count to three/Come with me/And you'll be/In a world of/Pure imagination..."

John watched the two of them and began to tear up, the emotions of the past few months bubbling over into pure joy at the sight before him. He coughed as he tried to mask the tears.

Hamish gave a few more half-hearted wails before giving a little hiccup and visibly settling down, soothed by Sherlocks singing.

**Sherlock smiled and kissed his forehead again before turning to look at John, "There, he's settled now. Let's let him sleep and we'll figure out what to do next." **

**tiny face screwed up in fr**


End file.
